


Spy vs Spy

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Case Fic, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: John Sheppard and Rodney McKay are rival spies, always trying to outdo each other.  Circumstances force them to go on the run together.Turns out, it's possible they don't hate each other as much as they thought. And they may just help save the Earth in the process.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 34
Kudos: 67
Collections: McShep Big Bang 2020





	Spy vs Spy

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the amazing Selenic76
> 
>   
> 
> 
> [Art Link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610806)

"C'mon. Hurry up you piece of Vista crap," Rodney bitched under his breath. He grimly watched as the green bar on the screen progressed with agonizing slowness. He should have known the software was going to be a problem the minute he'd seen the CRT monitor. 

As office spaces went, this one skipped the past three decades. The brown paneled monstrosity of a desk came with a matching chair that had never heard of the word ergonomic. He supposed he should be grateful that he didn't have to work under fluorescent lights. Instead, his work was illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp; a green tube-shaped eyesore that screamed '70s. 

As far as Rodney was concerned, the owner of this office deserved to have his files hacked.

He’d picked the time carefully. It was well past the hour when all the good little office workers had gone home, but not so late that the night watchman would question his presence. He just had to keep his head down and look the part. 

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and Rodney froze. Footsteps. Someone was approaching. Damn it. Rodney's stomach sunk as he realized he'd left the door unlocked. Of course, he had. He was supposed to be here on legitimate business. Locking the door would have only looked suspicious. 

He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and straightened his plastic badge. Bold letters on the badge made the claim that he, Josh, was a junior associate for the company's IT team. With luck, anyone that noticed him would assume that good ol' Josh was just the kind of underachiever to get assigned to the night shift. 

Rodney knew his disguise was flawless. Nebbish but not overboard geek. That's where others made their mistake. Horn rims glasses, yes, but he eschewed adding white tape to the nosepiece. That kind of obviousness was sure to get a second look. 

As far as the pocket protector went, it was turning out to be a handy place to keep his lock picks. As he waited for the file to download, he spent a few blissful seconds figuring out how to incorporate it into his other disguises. 

The footsteps stopped on the other side of the office door. Crap. He could just make out the blurry image of a man through the frosted glass window. The stranger stood there; head cocked to the side apparently listening for something. Rodney held his breath. 

It was impossible to make out any details beyond the fact that the intruder was suspiciously dressed all in black, and the way he'd been skulking, he obviously didn't belong here any more than Rodney did. 

The doorknob slowly turned. Rodney's gaze flicked between the door and the green status bar. Eight seconds left. The door cracked open. Five seconds. Done! Rodney pulled out the flash drive just as the door was pushed wide open and the man in black stepped into the room. 

Two things Rodney noticed immediately; the man didn't make a sound as he moved, and he seemed amused to find Rodney there. 

"Who are…?" Rodney snapped his mouth shut and reminded himself that he was going to blow his cover if he wasn't careful. He lowered his gaze and did his best to look like any other IT tech. 

"Well now," the intruder said. "It seems like you just saved me a whole lot of trouble." He smoothly plucked the flash drive out of Rodney's hand.

"Hey!"

The corner of the stranger's mouth curled up in a mocking smile as he held the flash drive up to the light. "What do you know? Must be my lucky day—" His gaze flicked down to Rodney's name tag "—Josh." 

Rodney rose from his chair, ready to lunge and grab back the drive. 

"Sit down, Josh. I'd hate to have to shoot you over a little thing like this." He aimed a gun at Rodney's chest. Rodney sat. 

Swiftly, he unplugged the desk phone and used the cord to secure Rodney's hands and tie him to the chair. He tossed the phone out of reach and began patting Rodney down. "No cell phone?" 

Rodney fumed and wanted nothing more than to deck the bastard. He clenched his jaw, knowing full well he'd let his head get lost in the role and it had slowed his reactions down. Damn it.

Granted, if he were honest, his reaction time didn't have a chance of besting that smooth attack even on a good day. Which pissed him off even more. It didn't help this asshole seemed amused by the whole thing.

Rodney glared as the bastard made a show of tucking the flash drive in his breast pocket. Furious, he strained against his bindings. He could feel them begin to loosen and pulled harder. 

"Tut-tut. Do you really want to get loose while I'm still holding a gun? Didn't think so." He patted Rodney's shoulder as if they were the best of buddies.

"Thanks, again, Josh. I thought this was going to take a lot longer. Turns out now I've got plenty of time left for dinner with a pretty blonde that has legs that go up to…well, I'll leave that to your imagination." 

Then, with a smirk that would haunt Rodney's dreams for nights to come, the stranger was gone. 

And so was the file.

John stepped out onto the balcony to get away from the crowd. Two hours and he was no closer to his goal. Impatiently, he tugged at his bow tie. He could strip and reassemble a 9mm in under a minute—in the dark. But somehow, it was beyond him to keep his tie straight for more than five minutes. He gave it one last sharp tug and gave up. At least it no longer felt like it was choking him.

He took a moment to check his cuffs and smooth down his pristine white shirt. Unnecessary. His shirt had been starched to an inch of its life while his black trousers sported a crease that looked sharp enough to cut. 

He sighed. He'd much rather be wearing one of his soft, black tees and old jeans, but formal wear was required at this shing-dig. Knowing he looked damned good in it barely helped. 

"John?" A soft, feminine voice called his name from the other side of the open door. "When you're done making yourself pretty, get out here and mingle." 

Right. He had a date. Sort of. Co-worker. Backup. Take your pick. Nancy loved these sorts of affairs. She'd convinced the agency that she should tag along in case John needed assistance. He didn't. 

Nancy held up two flutes of champagne and handed one to him. "You look like you could use this." 

She smiled. Gorgeous and gracious, as usual. Her ice-blue gown clung in all the right places and her golden blond hair was piled up in a complicated looking sweep. 

"How much longer before the auction starts?" John asked. 

"It's a fundraising gala, John, she said with soft amusement. "A chance to rub elbows with the wealthy, make those all-important contacts—" She raised her glass, "And drink for free." 

John's eyes had begun to glaze over at the word fundraising. An entire evening of mingling with rich, pompous assholes. Peachy. 

For a moment the memory of Josh's expressive eyes and genuine reactions flashed in front of him. For all he knew, Josh was a pompous ass too, but John couldn't help the twinge of regret that he was unlikely to ever find out for sure.

A tiny frown mussed Nancy's perfectly-shaped eyebrows. " Couldn't you at least try to act like you're having a good time?" 

"I'm only here to bid on Lot 39. The rest of this pandering shit show is just something to get through. Once I've bought this thing, my job's done." 

"Let me guess, you'd be much happier if they let you steal the item instead of acquiring it legally." She smiled into her drink. "Semi-legally, I suppose. The item was probably stolen long before it ended up here." 

"Yeah, about the item. Do you know what it is? The only info they gave me was the lot number, a blank check, and the order that I was not to leave without it."

"No idea. But they must want it badly, John. Otherwise, why would they send you?" 

"They're expecting trouble, and I'm the best damned agent they've got." John grinned. 

"You realize, your ego would be beyond annoying if that fact weren't so true." She laid a hand on his arm. "Be careful. There's every reason to believe that the minute you have the item in your possession there'll be a target on your back. Get back to the Department and get rid of it just as soon as you can." 

"Aw, are you worried about me, Nanc?" 

"Not at all. I'm only warning you because it took three hours to get my hair styled like this, and I don't intend to mess it up protecting your ass," she teased. "And don't call me Nanc." 

John gave her a jaunty two-fingered salute. "Guess I'll just mosey on then." He handed her his untouched drink and made his way to the auction room. 

He knew he'd come to the right place when he found a room with its entrance cordoned off.  
The hanging red velvet rope marked it as off-limits. Yeah, right. John stepped over it and into a room that had all the charm of the cheap seats at a movie theater. 

The pitiful seating faced a wide stage with a black curtain backdrop. So far, the only thing on display was the wooden podium and a nervous-looking assistant fussing with the lights. John softly snorted. No amount of glamour lighting was going to help this place. 

The assistant was too busy adjusting the lamps to notice him. Or maybe he just didn't care. Something about his body language and set of the man's shoulders seemed vaguely familiar. When he couldn't place it John shrugged it off. He'd remember it later if it was important.

He took a chair near the front and leaned back. He was sorely tempted to say, screw it, and just make his way into the storage room to find out exactly what lot 39 looked like. Just as temptation was about to win out a bell rang and people began drifting in.

The nervous assistant handed him a bid paddle. "Excuse me, but have we met? John asked. 

The man's head jerked up. His eyes widened, and with a quick shake of his head, he moved away. John lost sight of him in the crowd, but that didn't change the fact that something felt off. 

He racked his memory, but he couldn't think of anyone he knew, friend or foe that had a bushy, brown mustache. Since their brief encounter didn't feel threatening, he shook it off. 

With a bored, weary sigh, he settled back in his chair to wait for lot 39 to come to the stage.

~*~

John signed the paperwork with a flourish and said, "I believe Lot 39 is mine now." He pressed the tips of his fingers together in a falsely patient demeanor and waited.

"You're getting quite the bargain, sir," the clerk said, blowing on the ink. 

John barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He'd signed his name with a ballpoint pen and knew damn well that wet ink wasn't an issue. This entire place was a study in affectations, and the sooner he got out of here the better. He cleared his throat. 

The clerk reached for the check. "I'll just take this and have one of my assistants bring you your item." 

John's slapped his hand down over the clerk's wrist. "Bring it to me first. Then you can take the check and go." 

"Well—I never--! Fine." With an air of being severely put upon, the weaselly little man picked up the phone and dialed. "Mr. Hancock would like his purchase brought to the desk. Now, please." 

"Good. I see we understand each other." John plastered on his patented shark smile and enjoyed the resultant look of alarm on the clerk's face. Funny how all those airy mannerisms just dried up and blew away. 

Two minutes later there was a knock on the office door. The mustached assistant from earlier shuffled in carrying John's box. He set it down without a word and left. Damn, there was something about those shoulders…. 

"I'll leave you to it, Mr. Hancock. I don't believe I need to remind you that all items are sold as-is, and all sales are final." With that, the clerk got up and left—probably to run to the bank. 

He checked over his shoulder, and as soon as he was sure he was alone, John began examining the box in detail. 

Lot 39 turned out to be a small, wooden chest the size of a shoebox. There was nothing remarkable about it aside from the dove-tailed construction and brass keyhole. It hardly seemed worth the twenty-thousand-dollar price tag. 

So, if not the chest, John reasoned, there must be holding something extremely valuable inside. Nancy's earlier warning to get the hell out of there asap only piqued his interest. His fingertips itched to open the box and after a quick look to make sure he was alone, he tried lifting the lid. Nope. It was locked. 

Hm. Hardly surprising and frankly, not much of a challenge. John sighed. The lock mechanism was so simple he could've picked it with his eyes closed. In fact, this entire gig had been a bland disappointment from start to finish. 

Completely unlike last week when he'd lifted the flash drive from that computer geek, Now, that had been interesting. 

With a wry grin, John remembered the geek's look of shock when John stepped into the room. Tying him up and being on the receiving end of Josh's glare and smoldering outrage was pure bonus. Yep. Good times. 

It was a pity he'd never see good ol' Josh again. But in John's line of work, it was better to keep civilians at arm's length. Huh. That's who the auction assistant reminded him of, the computer geek. 

In fact, if he removed the mustache and replaced those blue contact lenses with brown…. "Well, I'll be damned." John couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. Today had just gotten a lot more interesting. 

The lock clicked. "Well, let's just see what you're got. Gently, John raised the cover to reveal—a cheap, plastic kewpie doll. No no no no.

"Not what you were expecting?" 

John looked up to see the auction assistant—or Josh—or whoever the hell he was standing in the doorway. 

"Maybe if you hadn't been so slow…ah yes, what was the name on the paperwork? Josh tapped his chin. "Hancock, I believe. John Hancock."

He could practically see the smugness roll off Josh's tongue. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with the original contents?" John demanded. 

"You must take me for an idiot if you think I'd tell you, _Mr. Hancock_. Seriously, you actually went with John Hancock on the paperwork? You couldn't be more original?" 

"Like your name is actually Josh." 

"At least I have the excuse that every IT department I've ever had to deal with has at least three people named Josh in it." 

Okay, John had to give him that one. "So, who are you?" 

"McKay. Rodney McKay. And I'm only telling you that so you'll get the story right when you have to admit to your superiors that I stole the artifact out from under your nose. And don't forget to mention that you just paid twenty-grand for a kewpie doll." 

John clenched his fists. He hadn't been allowed to bring a gun or a knife and Rodney was being very careful to stay well out of arms reach. Fuck. "Give it back." 

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots over here." 

"I'll give you shaken if you just come a little closer," John growled. 

"No, I don't think so." Rodney flashed him a cocky grin and a finger-wave. "Toole-loo, Hancock. It's been fun!"

Left alone in the map room, Rodney carefully pocketed his wire-rim monocle and traded it for a magnifying glass. He gently smoothed the map out across the large, oak table. God bless libraries.

The librarian had gone out of her way to be helpful. It was almost too easy. Just as he suspected it would, his tailored waistcoat and mock accent had helped pave the way. Rodney stroked his chin. Then again, maybe it was the fake goatee. 

Not that it mattered. Now, after three weeks of research and numerous dead ends, he'd finally located the original Ballard map. How it had ended up in the oldest library in Monterey California still wasn't clear. Not that he cared. The important part was that he'd finally found it.

Excited enough to bounce on his toes, Rodney took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. He was so close! Somewhere on this old piece of canvas Nicholas Ballard had left the exact coordinates he needed to find the final piece.

Speaking of artifacts…. Rodney's mouth curved up in a smile. Seeing Hancock's face when he'd seen that silly kewpie doll had been the most fun Rodney had had in years. Sadly, he'd had less success with uncovering Hancock's real name. 

Rodney pored over the map's topography using his magnifying glass on the fine print. Nothing. Nothing unusual about the names of the rivers and mountains. Nothing that looked remotely like coordinates, or even another clue. Damn. 

A dark shadow fell over the map and Rodney, still bent over the table, froze. 

"Find anything interesting?" a voice husked in his ear. 

"You!" Rodney snapped his head up and spun around so quickly he bumped into the man behind him. "Hancock," he growled. "What are you doing here?" 

He thrust out his chin refusing to acknowledge the way Hancock's hands had grabbed him by the arms to stop them from slamming into each other. Steady hands with a firm grip, a grip that didn't seem very eager to let go. Rodney wrenched himself away glared at Hancock. 

"You know, if we're going to keep meeting like this, you might as learn to use my real name," Hancock drawled. 

"One, I have no intention of continuing to meet like this. And two…." Rodney paused; curiosity getting the upper hand. "How did you find me?" 

"You didn't make it easy. I'll admit you gave me the slip a couple of times. Then I realized we were both after the same thing. Once I knew we were following the same clues it was only a matter of time until you ended up here." 

"Huh." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the table. Damn it. Instead of achieving a pose of cool nonchalance, all he managed to do was knock the chair over. 

Exasperated, Rodney decided it was time for answers. "So tell me, who the hell are you, John Hancock? I tried googling you, and it probably won't come as a surprise that running a search for any combination of slinky hips, rakish hair, and dangerous grin didn't exactly give useful results." 

Hancock laughed, his hazel eyes lighting up with glee. "My name really is John. John Sheppard. Not that I should tell you that, but it seems only fair." 

"Your name really is John? Hey, what do you mean by fair?" 

"Well," John smirked, "since you gave me your real name, I did some research on you too."

Rodney winced. "Oh. I probably shouldn't have done that." 

"It seems you have quite the catalog of disguises. No one seems to know exactly what you look like. Oh, I found some articles written by you in some pretty deep subjects like math and physics, but when I tried to locate a picture, none seemed to exist." 

"Yet you still found me. How?" Rodney asked. He froze as John's gaze slowly traveled over him, lingering at his shoulders before rising to meet Rodney's eyes. 

"Let's just call it a trade secret. Now, Dr. McKay, let's have a look at this map you found." 

All the glaring in the world didn't seem to dissuade Sheppard from inspecting the map and Rodney gave it up as a lost cause. Not that he was worried. Sheppard didn't have any chance in hell of finding the coordinates when Rodney himself hadn't been able to. 

Giving in to the inevitable, Rodney stepped away from the table. "Fine. Have at it."

He watched as John gently ran his fingertips over one section of the map, pausing just long enough to glance up at Rodney through his eyelashes. Casually he asked, just as if Rodney would actually tell him, "What's your stake in this? Who are you working for?" 

"Oh, are we sharing now? What's next, doing each other's hair?" Rodney snapped back doing his best to ignore the way his pulse beat faster under Sheppard's gaze. What in hell was wrong with him? 

Sheppard shrugged and turned his attention back to the map. "I figured it couldn't hurt to ask." Suddenly his eyes widened. Standing abruptly, he stood and started towards the door. 

"Wait!" Rodney called. "You found something just now, didn't you? Oh, c'mon, you can't leave without telling me!" 

"Oh, yes I can," Sheppard halted in the doorway and looked back at him with that same damn smirk that had haunted Rodney's dreams. "Thanks, again, Rodney." 

A heartbeat later he was gone leaving Rodney torn between following or staying behind to work out exactly what clue Sheppard had discovered. God damn it. 

His cell rang. "Hello?" 

He could hear the sound of a car engine revving and then Sheppard's voice cut in. "Forget searching the topography and check out the decorative border edging the map. There's more to it than there looks." 

"Sheppard? Is that you? How did you get this number?" 

"Now, you owe me one, McKay," Sheppard said, and then he hung up. 

Rodney debated throwing his phone across the room. The smugness of the man had practically vibrated across the airwaves. Instead, he grit his teeth and vowed to find a more productive way to get revenge.

John sat behind the wheel of his red corvette and grinned. He was in too good a mood after getting one-up on McKay to spoil it by checking in with the Department. Nope, he had a chance to beat McKay to the next location and there was no way he was passing that up, assignment protocols be damned.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he kept one eye on the library's exit. "C'mon, McKay, I gave you the clue. I know you're smart enough to have found it by now. What's taking so long?" Cat and Mouse wasn't any fun without the mouse. No. Oh, no, that couldn't be…. 

With his hand covering his face, John snickered into his palm. McKay had come out into the parking lot to straddle a god-damned Vespa. 

Still snickering, John rechecked the coordinates he'd taken off the map and plugged it into his GPS. Yerington, Nevada. John scratched his head. Why would the old Ballard map lead him to a small town six hours away by car? This whole thing was turning into a whacked-out scavenger hunt. 

Alrighty-then, he had a smooth, easy trip—minus the fun of the car chase he'd been looking forward to—ahead of him. He pictured McKay's ass after riding for six hours on a scooter and snorted. Nope, he didn't envy McKay one bit. For half a heartbeat he wondered if he should offer the guy a lift. Nah. 

He could however rub it in by returning that two-finger wave. Or one finger. John rolled down the window ready to do just that. The Vespa was gone. 

No. No way did McKay just get the jump on him. He revved the engine, impatient to get on the road. John started backing out of the parking lot when the heavy thumping sound from the passenger side made hit him the brakes. No. That rat bastard couldn't have…how did he have time…? 

A quick check of his tires proved that yes—yes he had. Fucking bastard. Both of the tires on the passenger side of John's car were flat. Frustrated, he raked his hands through his hair and aimed a hard kick the wheel-well. Damn. Ow. Damn it. 

He should never have assumed McKay was working alone. "Just change the damn tires, John," he muttered. Fuck. He only had one spare. First the trick with the kewpie doll and now this. When he got his hands on Rodney McKay…crap. First, he had to catch up to him.

From the corner of his eye, John spied a tow-haired kid of nine or so watching him. Immediately suspicious, he yelled over, "Hey, kid. Do you know anything about this?" 

Looking as guilty as hell, the kid flushed. "Maybe. Depends how much trouble I'm in." 

"Right. That depends on if I believe you." John wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions. Mostly, he needed to find out if McKay had an accomplice or not. "Did you do this?" 

The kid looked down at the ground and scuffed his toes in the dirt before lifting his head. A sly smile crossed his face. "I can give you directions to the nearest garage—for five bucks." 

John raised an eyebrow at the junior racketeer. The kid's grin just grew wider. It took a few minutes of haggling, but in the end, John had the answer he needed.

McKay had paid the kid to watch for a fancy, red car and to let the air out of the tires if one pulled into the parking lot. Drastic, but annoyingly effective. Plotting revenge, John dialed the number for the tow truck.

Nine hours later, the last thing John expected was to be sitting in a pub, drinking beer, and sharing an onion blossom with Dr. Rodney-fucking-McKay.

John leaned against the back of the booth and forced a smile in Rodney's direction. Yeah. Probably not coming across as disarming and harmless as he'd intended. Not while grinding his teeth in aggravation at the same time. 

"So…." John began, forcing himself to sound calm. Thanks to two flat tires, McKay had arrived here hours ahead of him. It was unlikely he'd found the artifact or he'd be gone already instead of sitting in the local tavern nursing a beer and munching down a late supper. 

Now John had to find out just how much of a head start Rodney actually had. 

Rodney pulled off an onion frond, waving it in the air as he spoke. "I'm not telling you anything. I don't care how tempting you—" He waved the piece of onion in front of John's nose. "That laissez-faire posing of yours doesn't fool me one bit!" 

John sat up straight. "Fine!" He ripped off a frond and bit down hard on it, showing his teeth. 

"You don’t fool me either, McKay. Neither does that cheap disguise you're wearing. You're going to tell me what you've discovered and who you're working for." 

"Who I'm working for? Is it really that important?" Rodney crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin, glaring down his nose at John. "You first." 

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," John snarled. 

"And, if I tell you, my life is in danger." 

John paused. "Really?" 

"No. Not unless you shoot me for not telling, and then I guess the reverse is true." 

John tried to straighten that sentence out in his head, gave up and took a long drink of his beer instead. Glancing across the table he couldn't help but catch the expression on McKay's face. Interesting.

McKay's eyes were riveted to John's mouth, only drifting down to his throat when John swallowed. Just to be sure, he slowly ran his tongue across his bottom lip. Bingo. 

He filed that information away for later and waved the waitress over. "Another beer please, and one for my companion over there." 

"Anything else?" she asked. Her fresh-faced enthusiasm at odds with the late hour. 

When John shook his head no she turned her smile on McKay. "Father, can I get you something else?" 

McKay nervously ran his hand over his clerical collar. "No. Just the beer, please." 

John ducked his head to hide his smile as she gathered up their used dishes and walked away. 

"McKay—a priest this time? Really?" John rested his arms on the table and leaned close. "And what the fuck did you do to your hair?" 

"I'll have you know this is a perfect disguise to achieve my next goal. And my hair, if you must know, was my attempt to emulate yours." 

"Not too successfully," John shot back. His own hair had a tendency to ignore any attempts to subdue it no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to mimic it. 

The waitress returned with their drinks, putting a temporary halt to further conversation. 

"You're thinking too hard. I can almost hear your brain cells dying off. I shouldn't, but if you promise not to blow my cover, I'll fill you in." McKay picked at the label on his beer bottle and his cheeks were flushed as he added, "You helped me after all, I guess I sort of owe you one." 

Great, they were finally getting somewhere. Not that John couldn't have figured it out, but damn, this was a whole lot easier. "Shoot." 

"First, it would help if you'd start calling me Father McKay and not blow my cover. After taking a long drink of his beer and wiping his mouth he looked up at John. His sincere, blue eyes and open expression made him look intensely vulnerable. 

Crap. John knew he was a sucker for that look, but had McKay known that? He couldn't actually be that sincere, could he? He picked at the label on the beer bottle needing to buy enough time to steel himself against that look.

After a couple minutes, he pulled his shit together enough to ask, "Just tell me first. Is that the real color of your eyes or are you wearing colored contacts?" 

The corner of Rodney's mouth crooked up in a smile. "This is my real eye color. How about your hair? How do you get it to do that?" 

"Born with it that way. Okay, give, what's our next objective and why the priest get-up?" 

"You’re not going to just leave and let me retrieve the artifact on my own, are you, Sheppard." 

"Not a chance in hell. And no promises that I won't beat you to it and leave you behind to eat my dust, _Father_ McKay." And wow, did that sound wrong. 

"As long as you understand I'll do the same to you if I get there first." Rodney finished his beer in one last, long swallow. "The coordinates on the Ballard map are precise only in general terms, which is how we ended up in Yerington. To reveal the exact location, you have to figure in the date the map was made."

"And, you did that." 

"I did. Turns out that the largest structure still standing from the time the map was drawn is St. Matthew's Mission Church." 

John could see exactly where this was going. "And your plan is to invite yourself in as a fellow man of the cloth."

"Yes. I prefer it over sneaking around, like some people," Rodney snapped back. 

"Aw, and we were getting along so well." John leaned closer and added, "Might want to watch that temper there, Father, if you're planning on fitting in with the locals."

"That's it!" Rodney stood. He pulled a few bills out of his wallet and threw them down on the table. "That's my share. You can pay for your own. Don't follow me. Don’t get in my way. As far as I'm concerned, we're even." 

More amused than he probably should be, John watched Rodney leave. He gave himself time to finish his beer and pay up. It hadn't been hard to figure out which car was Rodney's. John knew he hadn't ridden a scooter all the way here and the blue Chevy was the only California rental in the parking lot. If he just happened to have the foresight to plant a tracker on it before walking into the pub, well, that only made his job easier now.

Rodney hated to admit it, but John was right. He was going to blow this thing if he didn't make more of an effort to fit into his role. Which meant being nice or at least putting up with any imbeciles that crossed his path. At least it wouldn't be for long. If he played this right, he should be out of here by tomorrow afternoon.

He opened the door to his hotel room and tossed his suitcase onto the bed. Please let there be lots of hot water. First the six-hour drive here, and then another two hours sitting on a hard bench in the pub, and now his entire backside was making it known it wasn't happy.  
The room was clean if plain. Generic art hung on the walls, the linen on the full-sized bed smelled fresh, and holy of holies, there was small coffee-maker perched on the tiny table near the mini-fridge.

Shower, then sleep, and then up early to make his introductions to Father Phillips. After that, all he had to do was arrange some time alone in the church to search for the artifact. Rodney started the shower and stripped out of his clothes. 

He'd figure out how Sheppard had found him so quickly later. He'd been too shocked to say anything when Sheppard had strolled in and sat down across from him. He'd acted like he belonged there, making himself right at home with a casualness Rodney couldn't hope to match. Bastard. 

The shower's heat eased the soreness in his muscles and he let it run until the water began to cool. He stepped out and wrapped a towel around his hips. Yawning—it had to be near midnight—Rodney dried off, tossed the towel onto the floor, and crawled into bed. He rarely slept au natural, but he was too exhausted to bother with sleep clothes. Besides, the sheets felt wonderful against his bare skin. Rodney stretched, rolled over, and was asleep within minutes.

Morning broke. 

Rodney sniffled in his sleep and sighed happily. Coffee. The scent of dark roast ambrosia poked at his brain cells and his eyelids fluttered open. Why was a pillow smashed up against his face? Oh. He was on his stomach and it was his face that was mashed into the pillow. He lifted his head and tried to blink away the bright sunshine illuminating the room.

"Good morning!" A perky voice chirped from the foot of his bed. 

"Sheppard?" Rodney snapped fully awake and sat bolt upright. "What in hell are you doing here?"

"I made you coffee. I figured you'd want to get an early start. Now, hold that pose." John held up his cell phone and snapped a picture.

"No no no, you do not get to take a picture of me." Belatedly, Rodney became highly conscious of the fact that there was nothing between him and Sheppard except a thin sheet that had pooled around his hips. He clutched it tightly with one hand while trying to cover his face with the other. 

"Rodney," John drawled. "Don't be a spoilsport. It's important to record this moment for prosperity. Why this may be the only time in recent history that anyone has gotten to see the great Dr. Rodney McKay completely stripped of his disguises!" 

"I hate you so much, Sheppard."

John just grinned back at him and angled the phone for another shot. "Not to insult your sex life…" He paused and raised both eyebrows. "Unless you're into wearing disguises during sex. You sly dog. I didn't think you had it in you."

"You—you—when I get my hands on you—" Rodney lunged, missed his footing, nearly lost his grip on the sheet, and almost landed on his ass on the floor. He made a desperate grab for the phone which John neatly side-stepped.

"Easy there, Rodney. I don't think that shade of red on your face can be healthy."

"What's it going to take to get you to delete that picture?" Rodney asked, catching his breath. 

"Sit down and we'll talk." John handed him a cup of coffee. "One cream, two sugars, just the way you like it."

Rodney took the coffee and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You've been watching me."

"For a few months now," John admitted. "Ever since the auction. It bugged me that…let me put it this way. Don't you find it odd that the two of us always seem to be in the same place at the same time—"

"—Trying to acquire the same things?" Rodney hummed. "That's because I know exactly what I'm looking for and your guys are just trying to keep up. Why they keep sending you, I have no idea."

"Because I'm good at my job." John smiled. The first true, genuine smile Rodney had ever seen on his opponent's face. 

"Oh." Rodney concentrated on finishing his coffee. He couldn't seem to stop glancing up at John's face just in case that fleeting expression came back. 

"I want to go with you when you go to the church," John said.

"You want to meet Father Phillips?"

"No, Rodney. I want you to distract Father Phillips and give me more time to find the damn artifact or whatever it is we're looking for."

"It should be another piece of the assembly." Rodney snapped his mouth shut. What was wrong with him, giving away information like that?" Damn it. This was all John's fault with his stupid smile and acting like they were friends. 

"Great. Get dressed. I want a chance to scope out the place before your meeting."

"I didn't say I agreed to do this!" Rodney protested. From the look on John's face, he was wasting his breath. "Fine. I'll meet you in the lobby."

With one final annoying smirk, John stepped out into the hallway. "I'll be right here waiting. We can go down to the lobby together."

Crap. There went his chance to give John the slip. Rodney threw his empty cup at the closed door. It bounced off harmlessly, refusing to give him the small satisfaction of breaking. His shoulders slumped. Great. Today was going to be a disaster.

Fuck the Office Department all to hell. This clusterfuck had their fingerprints all over it. John stood in the shadow of the confessional and silently released the safety on his .45.

Nothing had gone right since they'd entered the church. Granted, he'd gotten used to foul-ups since meeting McKay, but being betrayed by his own people had caught him blind-sided. Question was—who led them here? Him or McKay? 

On one hand, he didn't have to do anything. Oh, hell, the truth was—he shouldn't do anything. His only job was to acquire the artifact, turn it in, and then merrily go onto his next assignment. It was fucking Dr. Rodney McKay that had complicated everything. 

Alert for the sound of approaching footsteps, John replayed the events of the last few minutes.

At first, things had gone well enough. Father Phillips had welcomed Father McKay into the church while John had kept out of sight. Once the two of them had gone to the rectory for tea, or bible reading, or whatever Father Phillips had in mind, John was free to start searching the place. 

Thirty minutes later he'd still come up short-handed. He'd checked the pews, the altar, and the confessional. Nothing. He'd raked his hands through his hair in frustration when he'd run out of places to look. Reluctantly, John finally concluded that their reading of the map must have been wrong.

That's when things had taken a bad turn. A black sedan had pulled up to the front and two muscle-bound thugs in ill-fitting suits barreled into the church. John stayed in the shadows watching until they moved to the back and went upstairs. 

Now, with everyone out of the way he had a clear path to the exit. John knew the sensible course of action was to drop this wild goose chase and move on. Yet…. Fuck. As appealing as it was to leave McKay behind, he couldn't do it. 

John could hear voices above him coming from the choir loft. A brutal calm settled over him as he heard scuffling followed by the sound of fists smacking someone around. The loud groan following it had to be from either McKay or Father Phillips. John hoped like hell it was Phillips. 

He'd be a sitting duck if he tried taking the stairs unless he could think of a distraction. Before he could come up with one, Rodney started yelling. A chill ran down John's back. Wait. Rodney wasn't yelling because he was hurt. He was creating a distraction by —praying? 

John grinned. He slowly made his way up the stairs as Rodney distracted his captors by praying loudly for their souls and begging God to forgive them for their sins. 

Silently, he came up behind the first goon and put him in a chokehold. John rolled the body out of the way before the others realized they'd just lost their lookout. One down, one to go. 

Rodney was tied to a chair, feverishly trying to get his hands free. And wouldn't you know it, Father Phillips was holding a gun on Rodney. Number two had his back to John and that was a mistake. 

He could take out one, but not both. Damn it. He'd have to chance it anyway and hope Rodney didn't get caught in the crossfire.

Everyone's eyes were on Rodney now. He was still nattering on about redemption and hellfire, tossing out saints' names that John was certain had never graced any bible teaching. St. Fermi? Seriously? 

McKay was a terrible liar, but he kept the bad guys distracted. So far, they hadn't noticed they were down a man. 

John crept up behind number two and cold-cocked the bastard. He let the body drop, swung around to take aim at Phillips, and prayed he'd been fast enough. Instead of meeting a bullet in the chest he saw Phillips curled over in heap and groaning.

"Rodney? Are you okay? What just happened?" John asked, running up to him. Rodney looked terrible. Bruises were already rising on his face and his bottom lip was split open. 

"I managed to get one hand free and I elbowed that fucker Phillips in the balls. I hope I crushed them. Ow. Could you get my other hand free? Assuming you have nothing better to do?"

"You got it, buddy." John cut the remaining zip tie and pulled Rodney to his feet. "You're welcome. Hey, what’s up with your hand?"

"I had to break my little finger to get my hand free. Yes, it hurt. Seemed like a better option than certain death. Can we get out of here now, please?"

"Sure." Grinning evilly at the fake Father Phillips, John coldcocked him as well. He'd have preferred to do more damage, at least knock a few teeth out, but they didn't have the time. 

"They've got a car sitting out front. We'll have to go out the back and escape through the church cemetery." John kept one hand on Rodney's back as he guided them through the church. He wasn't sure who was more comforted by the touch, himself or Rodney.

He kept a firm grip on Rodney as they made their way through the cemetery. Despite his hold on him, Rodney tripped over a footstone and fell to his knees. John knelt down next to him. "I know you're hurt, but we have to hurry. We need to get as far away as we can before they wake up."

"Wait! Look." Rodney pointed down to the grave marker he'd just tripped over. No name, no date. Instead, the stone's only engraving matched the border design on the map. 

Rodney clutched John's arm with his good hand and refused to budge. "This has to be it. Pry it up." 

"We don't have time for this," John said, already digging his knife into the dirt around the stone. "C'mon, help me lift it."

Pushing the stone aside revealed a rusty, tin box. John gently lifted it up out of the hole. Peeking inside they found a tightly wrapped burlap and leather bundle. Carefully, he tucked the bundle inside his shirt. "That's it. Let's get out of here!"

Rodney's cradled his hand to his chest and leaned back against the wall while John unlocked the door to his hotel room. He hurt, he was exhausted and he was still confused about why John still here.

"I don't know why you insisted on coming back to your room, McKay," John grumbled. "We'd do better to get on the road and get as far from here as possible."

"Because my trunk is here and we're going to need it. Besides, I don't think I can drive with my hand like this."

John poured a drink from the room's minibar and put it in Rodney's good hand. "Drink."

"What are you going to do?" Rodney asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Drink. It will take the edge off."

"I don't think I like where this is going, Sheppard." Rodney drank. Eyes watering, he held out the glass. John was right there with a refill. 

He watched Rodney drink it all down. "Good. Hold out your hand."

Rodney couldn't watch. Pain shot up his arm and he clenched his teeth, biting back a scream. Slowly he opened his eyes to see John carefully taping up his newly set finger bone.

"Now, that wasn't so bad was it?"

"You're annoyingly cheerful after inflicting pain," Rodney groused. His hand throbbed, but remarkably it did feel better. Or maybe it was two hits of bourbon sinking in. Unsteadily he sat down on the bed. "Now what?" Damn. When had his voice gotten so shaky?

"You're the one that insisted we come here, remember?" John was stripping out of his clothes. As soon as the was down to his boxers he motioned for Rodney to do the same. 

"I don't think I can."

"I'll help you." John started with Rodney's shoes, inspecting them carefully before setting them aside. "Belt next. Shirt. Pants too." 

"You think we're bugged?" Rodney whispered as John helped him remove his black shirt and priest's collar.

"One of us is. Maybe both," John whispered back. "Someone certainly had a heads up on your plan to impersonate a priest. And they knew in time to get their own man—got it!

John held up a small bug for Rodney to see, walked over to the bathroom and flushed it. "No one ever thinks to look on the inside of a belt loop."

"How did anyone get close enough? I could understand bugging the lamp or tv, but my belt?"

"Ah, but you checked all those other places. I know you did because I did too. Don't feel bad. These guys are pros and were probably using inchworm tech." He made a walking motion with his fingers.

"Those things can crawl? That's horrifying. "

John just hummed his assent and continued to run his fingers over every seam in their clothing. Finished, he held up another tiny bug for Rodney to see before flushing that one too.

He came back into the room and sat down on the bed next to Rodney. "Found that last one in the hem of my pants. But I think I got them all now.

"I still don’t understand how anyone could have gotten so close, and why bug both of us?"

"They've probably been watching us for days if not weeks. They could have planted it anytime." John graced him with a tired, too honest smile. "You realize they're only interested in me because I've been able to get close to you."

"Well, shit." Rodney buried his face in his good hand. This was bad. 

"Hey, it's not that bad," John said, awkwardly patting his shoulder. 

"I hate you so much right now."

A huge, shit-eating grin split across John's face. "Yep. I know."

Rodney saw red. Seething; suddenly his only goal became wiping that bad boy, know-it-all grin off Sheppard's face. He shoved John—hard—pushing him down flat on the bed.

"Hey! What's got into you?" 

"Shut up!" Rodney yelled. "Shut up with your stupid, smirky grin, and your know-it-all lazy slouch. He threw his body down on top of John's doing his damnedest to pin him there. "I was doing fine until you came along! But you, you keep interfering. You make my life so god-damned difficult!

"You think you make it easy for me?!" John shoved back and Rodney grabbed his hands pinning them down over John's head. 

"Just stop."

"Stop what? Stop saving your life?" 

"Bastard, you know what I mean. You took—" Rodney struggled to hold John in place leaving him breathless to fight back as John strained up against him.

He had a vague idea that if he could keep John in one place then his problems would be over. Maybe he should tie him down. 

"Kinky. You do know you said that last part out loud?" John sneered. 

"Well, you're an aggravating bastard that can't keep his nose out of my business!"

God, he wanted to dive in and bite at the long line of John's throat. He'd leave a mark. His mark—his— it would be so easy to…. Mouth dry, Rodney suddenly realized that John was hard, and damn-it-to-hell, so was he. 

With a shudder that had nothing to do with feeling like his skin was suddenly on fire, Rodney leapt off the bed. The dark glitter in John's eye was proof that he'd also been aware of how close they'd just come to using each other to get off. 

"Sorry," Rodney blurted. All he got was an ironic eyebrow lift in response. "I need to…um…bathroom. With the door closed. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…." 

John slid off the bed and pulled his pants on. He calmly gazed back at Rodney as he buttoned his shirt. Nodding toward the bathroom door, he said, "Go on and get dressed. We need to get going."

Unable to meet John's steady gaze he escaped to the bathroom. 

Bracing his hands on the sink he stared into the mirror. "You can do this. C'mon, get it together. Wanting to fuck John doesn't mean anything. You were just caught in the heat of the moment. Right. Just a monetary thing. It's nothing."

He took a deep breath and shook the tension out of his arms. "I just have to make sure it never happens again." Feeling more unsure about that decision than he cared to admit, Rodney stepped back into the room.

John had Rodney's trunk open and was checking out its contents. "There's stuff in here…" John began, sounding strangled. "It's all yours?" He blinked up at Rodney as he slowly pulled out a black and pink corset and a red wig.

"It's hard to get matching stockings in the right size so if you come across them, please be careful," Rodney warned.

"What?"

He grinned back, enjoying the undisguised shock on John's face. "Trust me, Sheppard, as a redhead, I'm a knockout."

"Uh, you're not going to try to make me wear anything like this are you?"

"No. You'd be terrible at it. I thought we'd just go with making you look older. Give you a salt and pepper beard, and put you in some old man clothes. Once I add a few wrinkles, your own mother wouldn't know you."

"What about you?" John asked, sounding relieved. 

"Sadly, Roxanne takes too much prep work to pull off short notice. We don't have time for that." Rodney paused. 

"What are you concocting in that head of yours now, McKay? Rodney?"

"I was thinking that I wouldn't use a disguise. What if I let them follow me so you can get away?"

"That's a terrible idea.". 

"Hear me out. I'll play the decoy. I'm certain I can shake those goons once I'm sure you've gotten away. Meanwhile, you'll get safely back to your people, and find out what the hell is going on."

"It's a crap plan." 

"It's not." Rodney folded his arms across his chest and stood firm. "I'll…I'll even let you take the artifact with you."

"The what?"

The artifact. The piece we picked up at the cemetery?" How in hell had John forgotten about the artifact? Right. Not ten minutes ago Rodney had almost rubbed off on him. John's brain was no doubt occupied by devising various ways to retaliate. 

"Right. John said, sounding distracted as he sifted through more of Rodney's disguises. Absently he asked, "Do we even know what that thing is for?"

Impatiently Rodney snapped his fingers in front of John's face. "Let me see it." 

"The artifact? It's right over there, Rodney." 

Rodney groaned. Right. The package was sitting in plain sight on the dresser. Maybe John's brain wasn’t the only one temporally off-line.

"We're wasting time," John pointed out. "We still have the bad guys after us—remember?" 

Beaming, Rodney held up a roll of duct tape and a ruler. "This is how we're giving you a limp."

"I don't need a limp." John wiped his hand over his face. "I know you like your disguises, but I think it's good enough if they don't see us leaving together.

"Oh." Rodney's face fell. It had been such an awesome plan.

He tossed John a saggy, faded, green sweater. "At least put this on."

John caught the sweater with one hand and shook his head. "It won't matter what I put on unless you've got a hat in there too." 

Rodney grimaced. "Your hair. Does it always do that? I thought it was a style choice." 

"Cowlicks," John said.

"And enough to consider it a herd." Rodney sighed. Even Sheppard's hair was a rebellious pain in the ass. 

"You could say that. So, Mr. Master-of-Disguise, got a hat?"

As disguises went this one made him cringe, but they'd run out of time to improvise. Rodney finally managed to talk John into wearing the faded cardigan and a Mets baseball cap before he shooed him out the door.

With a squeal of tires, John pulled his car across the narrow alley effectively blocking the black SUV pursuing Rodney. He'd known it was going to come to this. Rodney's stupid plan to draw their pursuit away from John hadn't had a chance in hell of working.

He pulled up beside Rodney's stalled car. John swung his passenger side door open and yelled, "Get in!"

"How did you…?"

"Shut up and get in, McKay!"

Rodney stumbled out of his car and made a clumsy lunge towards the open door. "How did you know?"

"Classic box trap. Buckle up and hang on. The only way out of this is through." John gunned the engine and hit the gas. The black SUV didn't have time to get completely out of the way, and John sideswiped the fucker. Without enough momentum behind it, he had to yank hard at the steering wheel to keep his car on the road. He winced at the scraping sound of metal on metal, but kept going.

"Oh my god, they used bullets! They shot my car's engine! It's a rental!" Rodney buried his head in his hands and muttered, "I'm never going to get my deposit back."

"That's the least of your worries." 

"How can you be so blasé about this?" Rodney asked, sounding horrified.

"I figured it was coming. It's a maneuver I've used myself." John checked the review mirror and smiled. "Cheer up. We got away clean."

They hit the highway and John asked, "North or South?"

"You don't know where you're going?"

John reached out and cuffed Rodney on the back of the head. "I meant, which way to your safehouse. You do have a place, right? Where your people are?"

"Not really. If you must know, I don't have people. I have…friends."

John was stunned. "You've been doing all of these searches on your own? Without backup?"

Rodney shrugged. "I was doing fine until you came along." 

Since his question hadn't been answered, John headed North. If Rodney didn't like it, he'd just have to say something. 

Rodney remained defensive and snarky for the entire time it took to reach Reno. It probably should have bothered him, but John was happy for the distraction. He drove up to the local Amtrak station and parked the car. "C'mon."

"What are we doing here?" 

"I'm going to buy you a ticket to wherever you want to go. And when you get there you're going to stay put and stay safe. Give me your phone."

Reluctantly, Rodney handed him his phone and waited for John to enter his phone number. "Call me when you get there. By then I should have an idea of what's really going on."

"You're going back? Aren't you going to be in trouble for helping me?" Rodney asked.

"Yes, and maybe. Only one way to find out." Damn, he hated parting ways like this. It just felt wrong. Fuck, he couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here and risk some sappy good-bye. Seeing the crumpled expression on Rodney's face was bad enough. 

"Here." John shoved a couple hundred bucks into Rodney's shirt pocket, turned on his heel, and left. Rodney would be okay. Besides, he'd done his part. He'd rescued Rodney twice and that had to count for something.

~*~ 

John slouched into the OD's Oregon headquarters as if he didn't have a care in the world. After chasing Rodney all over California and Nevada it felt good to get back in familiar territory. Correction. It should feel good, but his gut instinct didn't agree.

The lights were on so he popped his head into his favorite co-worker's office. "Teyla, I didn't know you'd be here today."

"I was recalled from the field just this morning." She didn't look happy. "Do you have time to join me for coffee, John?"

Warning bells went off. Teyla didn't drink coffee. She'd stuck strictly to tea ever since he'd known her. "Sure. Where?"

"Across the street. I find I need a breath of fresh air."

Those warning bells were blaring now. Teyla hated Starbucks. "Just let me drop my stuff off at my desk first."

She looped her arm in John's and gazed up at him with worried eyes. "Perhaps you should bring it."

"Okay." John looked around the office but no one seemed to be watching them. "I wouldn't mind starting my day with a good cup of coffee."

They went into Starbucks, walked through the store, and headed out the back. Teyla had a car parked behind the building waiting for them. This was getting better and better. 

She took the wheel and John climbed into the back, following her directions to keep his head down and stay out of sight. 

After about twenty miles on the road, Teyla motioned for John to move up front. Once he was settled, she pointed to a thermos on the floor. 

"You really did bring me out for coffee." John grinned. No one was better at concealing a lie within a truth than Teyla. "I actually did need to get something back at the office, you know."

"Whatever it is, you would never have made it out the door with it, John," Teyla said.

"Is it Nancy? Is she part of whatever this is?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know for certain, and that has me worried." She lowered her voice. "I have reason to suspect some of our own people may have set you up. Director Kenmore is most certainly involved. John, did you happen to run into trouble with your last mission?"

"You could say that."

She sighed. "What I don’t know is why. I was hoping you could tell me."

"Damn." After a long stare out the window, he added, "No idea, but thanks anyway for the warning." 

Teyla worried her lip, a sign of unease if John had ever seen one. "Hey, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I don't have this all figured out yet, but I will and I'll fill you in as soon as I do."

The silence dragged on until Teyla turned onto a dirt road, finally stopping to park at the overlook. John had to hand it to her. They had a clear view of any approaching cars and the beach below. They got out of the car, and walked to the edge of the bluff. 

The beach was empty this early in the morning and there was a distinct hint of frost in the air. John drank his warm coffee, and waited for Teyla to speak her mind.

"Like you, I too have been unhappy at the direction this new administration is taking. Mr. Woolsey could be hard, but he was principled. Mr. Kenmore however…" her voice trailed off. 

"Slime with extra layers of slime."

Teyla's eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Topped with a slime cherry?"

John snorted. "Yeah. He had me running around most of this year chasing down weird artifacts and documents that I couldn't make heads or tails of. The only time he seemed pleased with me was after I started tailing Dr. McKay."

"Director Kenmore did seem to enjoy sending you out on many wild goose chases."

"It's been a god-damn scavenger hunt and I still don’t know what he's really after," John said. 

"And you would like to find out why," Teyla finished for him. 

"It shouldn't be hard to figure out which of our people are aligning themselves with Kenmore. They'd be the ones trying to get rid of me." John mused. 

Teyla reached out and placed her hands on John's shoulders. "I've got your back, John. You know that. But please refrain from doing something foolish."

"Don't run off half-cocked you mean. I'll try. But I can't promise how much longer I can stomach Kenmore's way of doing things."

With that, Teyla nodded and they got back in the car. Warning given; she drove them back to the OD. 

They walked into the building together. Teyla headed for her office and John headed for his locker. After checking that nothing had been disturbed, he changed the lock. The eerie feeling that someone was watching his every move made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. 

There was nothing he could do about except to act normally. He walked over to his desk and booted up his computer just like any other day. John began searching through his back cases. He needed intel.

The shift in his missions came shortly after Kenmore came on board. Had Kenmore simply wanted him out in the field more? Maybe he'd gotten his jollies from assigning John to these inane scavenger hunts. John's gut said, no. Something deeper was going on. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Rodney's help would have been welcome. John pictured the satisfied glee on Rodney's face at being asked to help and smiled. 

Only, it had been days since he'd left Rodney at the train station. John's fingers smashed down on the keyboard. Four damn days, and Rodney still hadn't called.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, blew out a sharp breath, and rocked back in his chair. How the hell had he gotten so wrapped up in Rodney's welfare anyway? 

Shit. Well, he couldn't do anything about it until Rodney got in touch. After checking to make sure no one was watching, he pulled up the employee files. Time to get down to the business of finding out who he could trust.

One month later ~

John scowled at the calendar. On impulse, he grabbed up a red marker and drew a big cross over every day gone past since he'd gotten back. Four weeks and two days. It had been over a month and still no word from Rodney. God-damn annoying, smart-mouth, irritating bastard. John had asked him to do one thing. Just one—call. 

At least he'd managed to narrow down the list of Kenmore loyalists within his first two weeks back. Teyla had helped. Not as many as they'd feared. On the other hand, a lot of good people had transferred out including Nancy. 

He made a list of everything he'd been contracted to retrieve over the past year. He tried every angle he could think of and still couldn't figure out what they had in common. How had some hand drawn-blueprints, junk computer code, and a few crystal trinkets even drawn the attention of the Office Department? 

It smelled like a set-up. That was John's working theory. To what end? Suppose all these pieces weren’t as random as they seemed. What if they were part of something larger? 

John rubbed his temples. He needed to get Rodney's side of this if he were going to have a hope in hell of unraveling this mess. 

"John?" 

He looked up to see Teyla standing in front of him. Crap. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd never heard her approach. 

"Do you know who that is? She's making quite a stir." Teyla tilted her head towards Kenmore's office.

"Oh, holy hell, no. No." John stood; shocked at the sight of tall redhead patting Director Kenmore on the arm as he walked her into his office. 

"Are you all right?" Teyla asked, clearly confused by John's reaction. 

That was fair. He was feeling pretty damned confused himself. He knew that red hair. He'd seen an exact match to it in Rodney's trunk. 

The sleek, green dress, and its matching scarf hiding Rodney's Adam's apple was a smart touch. Not to mention the nude stockings showing off legs that went all the way up—oh, yeah.

If John didn't know better, he'd have been fooled too. 

"I was not aware Director Kenmore was seeing anyone," Teyla mused.

"It's temporary," John ground out.

Part of him was thrilled to find out that Rodney was okay. The rest of him was utterly furious to see Roxanne had made an appearance. Here—at John's home base—with fucking Kenmore drooling all over her. Him. Her. Fuck. 

He picked up a pencil just to have something to hold on to. Something to keep his hands busy. Maybe it would stop him from storming over and punching Kenmore in the face. 

"Teyla, I—I need to find out what's going on."

"Maybe you'd better sit down," Teyla cautioned. "You're turned white as a sheet."

A hysterical bubble of laughter rose in his throat and John choked it back. "You have no idea."

It would take a better man to tear his eyes away from the impending train wreck. Rodney might be great at disguises but he was a terrible liar. The minute he opened his mouth and said more than two words his Roxanne cover would be blown. 

"John breathe," Teyla gently pushed him down, encouraging him to sit.

He sat. "Can't. Any minute now there's going to be a disaster."

"I don't understand. Kenmore entertains clients from time to time, you know this. What do you think can possibly happen? Besides, his office is nearly all windows. Surely, he wouldn’t try anything in front of all of us?

She was right about the windows. The Director's office was a fishbowl and Kenmore claimed to like it that way. Said it helped him keep a tight eye on his staff—because there was nothing like having the boss watching your every move to encourage proficiency. 

Okay, John. Be cool. He expelled a long, slow breath. The last thing Rodney needed—oh fuck no. Kenmore just lowered the blinds on the windows. The pencil in John's hand snapped in two. 

The only thing keeping him in place was Teyla's firm hand on his shoulder. Right. Breathe. He could do that. No—no he couldn't. John jumped out of his chair ready to run up to Kenmore's office and fling the door wide open. 

Before he could move, there was a loud, resounding slap and a sharp yell from Kenmore. John drew in a lungful of air. "Jesus."

"You stay here," Teyla commanded. "I'm going to find out what's going on. John, are you listening?"

"Girl talk, Teyla? That's what you're planning? A show of feminine support, yeah. Sure. That'll work."

All that got him was a sharp glare in return. Dropping the sarcasm, he tried again, "I need to be part of any conversation that happens. Trust me."

Clearly exasperated with him, and honestly, John could see her point, she reluctantly agreed—with a warning. "Kenmore won't be happy if you stick your nose in his personal affairs, John. There will be repercussions."

Oh. John hadn't exactly thought of the situation that way. Kenmore would be pissed. Good. 

They were almost to the door when it burst open. Roxanne stepped out, stumbling straight into John's arms. He held on just long enough for her to steady herself on her feet. The fleeting expression on her face was one he knew well. Satisfied glee. 

Director Kenmore stood in the doorway; his expression coldly composed. A bright-red handprint marked his left cheek. John didn't fist-bump the air, but only because Teyla kept a restraining hand on his arm. 

"Mr. Sheppard, get back to your desk. Ms. Emmagan, please escort the lady out, and inform security that under no circumstances is she to be allowed access to the building again. Ever." Kenmore turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

Dismissed, John slowly walked back to his desk. His gaze followed Teyla and Roxanne all the way to the exit. He had a million questions and his best chance for answers just left the building.

"You're late."

John took a seat on the barstool and Rodney slid the beer he'd been saving for him over. John looked like he needed it even if it was flat by now. 

Calmly, Rodney said, "Let me guess. You either couldn't get away or it took you a ridiculously long time to find the note I stuck in your pocket when I bumped into you."

"Or," John said, your handwriting is so terrible that it took me two hours to decode it. Mermaid—Narwhal—Minnow—" 

Rodney pointed up at the five-foot mermaid carving decorating the bar. 

"Or it could be," John said without missing a beat, "that I was so taken with Roxanne's charms that I spent the afternoon writing love poetry. The time just slipped my mind."

"Oh, shut up. Don't think I can't see you grinning into your beer."

Rodney leaned close and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Roxanne is hot. I'd be tempted to do myself, but that seems too weird even for me."

He pulled back far enough to catch the expression on John's face. He'd been going for the joke, but instead of responding with a grin, John looked oddly thoughtful.

John motioned for the bartender to bring him a refill. "Roxanne. Tell me why you chose that disguise to—do what exactly? Leave me a post-it-note? You could have just called."

"Ah. So, I could get my hands on this. " Rodney grinned and tossed John a key ring. 

John caught it one-handed. "What's this?"

"It's the key to Kenmore's locker. I have reason to believe that's where your director is keeping everything you stole from me. I want it all back."

"Those things, they're not just random crap, are they?"

"No." Rodney shifted around to see if anyone was watching them. "But I can't talk about it here." 

John hefted the keys and tucked them in his pocket. "I don't even want to know how close you had to get to Kenmore to steal his keys."

Rodney snorted into his beer. "Not that hard. He couldn't keep his eyes off my—Roxanne's ass. I could have stripped his desk clean and he'd have never noticed. How did someone so incompetent end up as the director of OD?" 

"Believe me, McKay, I wish I knew. What?" 

"Your agency's acronym is pronounced—Odd. Aw, c'mon, don't tell me you don't find that hilarious. Ha! See." Rodney caught the hint of a smile in John's eyes. "You find it just as ridiculous as I do."

"I'm not admitting to anything."

Rodney paused for a moment to really look at John. Something was off. Oh sure, the casual lean and sardonic expression were there per usual, but he held onto his beer with a white-knuckled grip. When the muscle in John's jaw began jumping, he knew it was time to do something.

"C'mon." Rodney picked up his beer and headed for a quiet booth in the corner of the bar. John followed two steps behind. Ignoring his usual preference, Rodney let John take the seat that had the best view of the room. He knew he'd made the right call when John's shoulders started to relax.

He expected to have to pry the information out of John, but to his surprise, John started talking. Low and hushed, and Rodney had to lean close to hear, but still, voluntarily talking.

"I'm done," John said.

"What! No. I'm so close to putting the answers together. You can't back out now!"

"Not what I meant, Rodney. Things at OD have been…Kenmore is just one example. It used to be…I thought I was doing some real good. Useful if hush-hush kind of stuff, you know?"

Rodney nodded; aghast the emotional sharing. Worse, it made him feel all sympathetic and full of concerned crap that he had no idea how to deal with. He reached out and froze with his hand hovered over John's. 

Sheepishly, he pulled his hand back. They were rivals, not friends. Not…Rodney remembered the hotel room and pinning John to the bed. He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

"McKay? Where'd you just go off to?" 

"Um, nowhere?" He had no intention of admitting to John the thoughts that had just been running through his mind. 

John jiggled the keys in his hand. "What now?"

Rodney beamed. "Join me in a heist?"

"That's your plan?" John asked, with a slow shake of his head. "Don't you think you should have told me about this beforehand?"

"I didn't tell you the plan?" Damn. Rodney was certain he'd mentioned it. 

"No, you goofball, you didn't. I wasn't even sure you were still alive until Roxanne walked in. Give a guy a little head's up next time."

Since John didn't seem all that mad, Rodney launched into the details. 

Somewhere along the line, they'd managed to order food. As they munched on their fish and chips, he and John went over the plan one more time. "You're sure we should do it tonight?" Rodney asked.

"Hey, this was all your cockamamie idea, remember? Just how much time do you think we have before Kenmore realizes his keys are missing?"

Rodney had to concede that John had a point. "Fine, we go in tonight after everyone has left the building. Where's his locker located?"

"Down the hall from his office. He keeps it in a locked room that only he has access to." 

"He keeps a private, locked locker in a private, locked room. Paranoid much?"

John held up the keys; grinning. "Yeah, I can't imagine why."

An hour later they left the _Muddy Mermaid_ and John drove them to the OD, refusing to let Rodney drive. 

"Must seem strange to you to be here without wearing a disguise," John said, using his badge to swipe them into the building. 'C'mon. This way."

After an excruciating ninety seconds of mind-numbing elevator music, the door opened into a dimly lit corridor. 

"First door on the left." John already had the key out. 

"John, what are you doing here?"

"Teyla!"

A gorgeous woman with honey-brown skin stepped out of the shadows and pinned John Sheppard with a no-nonsense glare. "John. I repeat, what are you doing here—with him." She pointed at Rodney.

Rodney raised his hands, his gaze dancing between John and Teyla. Whoever she was, she looked like she meant business. Beautiful, deadly business. "Um, John?"

"Shut up, Rodney. I'll handle this. Teyla, I can explain. This is Dr. Rodney McKay. I'm sure I've mentioned him to you."

Rodney watched as John plastered on his disarming smile, but Teyla didn't seem to be falling for it. 

Finding the tension unbearable, Rodney blurted, "We're here to take back a few things that don't belong to you. Stuff John took from me and…um…."

"I see. And then you plan to escape with it. If I help you, will you take me with you?" she asked. 

For a moment, John looked like he'd had the air kicked out of him, then he nodded. "Of course, you can. She can, right, McKay?"

"Fine. But I shouldn’t have to point out we're wasting time. Can we get this done now, please?"

Teyla led the way. They bypassed the evidence locker and went straight to Kenmore's private room. 

"Does everyone know where this is?" Rodney asked. "Because it doesn't seem like a very well-kept secret."

"I'm not sure it's supposed to be a secret," John said. "More of a—this is mine and I forbid you to touch it—kind of thing.

Before he could open the door, Teyla laid her hand on his arm. "You're sure you want to go through with this? Director Kenmore will most certainly blame you for the theft."

"Can't be helped. Besides, it's not like I plan on returning." John opened the door and walked straight to the locker and unlocked that too. 

Impatiently, Rodney watched as John opened the locker, and rolled his eyes. Seriously, who could blame him? Not when inside the locker was another locked box. Overkill much?

"Can't we just take the whole thing?" Rodney asked. "That chest isn't much bigger than a toaster oven."

John and Teyla exchanged a look, and John shrugged. "Okay, but let's make sure what we want is really in there first." 

"Right, but you're carrying it." Rodney held up his bandaged fingers. "Wounded man here."

John opened used the remaining key to unlock the box and did a quick inventory of its contents. "It's all here."

"These things you've collected, John, I don't understand why they are so important. Nothing here seems of any particular value."

"I'm still figuring that part out, Teyla. I know it looks weird. If you've changed your mind about coming, I understand."

"I have not, but we should hurry."

Two minutes later they had the box and were headed for the exit. John shooed the two of them into the car—still not letting Rodney drive. "Okay, where to now, Rodney?"

"Back to my car. We left it at the bar…" Rodney took one look at John's face and made a new plan. "Um, I guess I can have someone else pick it up later."

Teyla frowned. "Wait. You're not thinking this through, either of you. Take Rodney's car, John. I will take yours.

"Why?" Rodney asked. 

"As soon as he discovers this box missing, and John gone as well, Director Kenmore will send his people after him. He knows what kind of car John drives, but it will take him longer to realize you are involved." 

"Hey," John protested. "I thought you wanted to come with us?"

"Let me do this," she said. "It will be a pleasure to lead him on a chase of gooses." 

Rodney couldn't help but notice that her smile didn't hold a trace of humor. Suddenly, he was very glad that Teyla was on their side. 

With no choice but to agree, John pulled up beside Rodney's car and handed her his car keys. "I'll come back for you."

She shook her head. "No, it's better this way. Besides, when I need to—I'll find you."

John sat behind the wheel of Rodney's car driving East. Teyla had given them a day's grace and John intended to use it to chew up as many miles as possible. Rodney's station wagon was decent on gas but had nowhere near the power under the hood John was used to.

"Do we have a plan yet?"

"None of this was in the plan," Rodney groused. 

"I don't believe you. You always have a plan, even if it's a stupid plan. And stop complaining about my driving. I know your hand is bothering you. You should be thanking me for taking the wheel."

Night had fallen, and it was beginning to snow. John glanced at the time. It was after midnight, no wonder he was having a tough time keeping his eyes open. "We're going to have to stop somewhere for the night. Look for a place we can pull over."

Rodney blinked back at him and rubbed his eyes. "Right. Some food wouldn't hurt either."  
There wasn't much to see but empty road and the first two gas stations they passed were closed. By the time they hit an all-night gas and grocery, it was nearly two in the morning. Rodney ran into the store while John filled the car with gas. 

By the time Rodney returned, John had not only finished but was beginning to worry. Had he reminded Rodney to pay with cash?

"Of course, I paid with cash. What? That's what you were about to ask. Don't bother to deny it. Here. Eat." Rodney passed John a bagel and a bottle of water. "Sorry, there wasn't much to choose from. They had some sandwiches, but there was no way to tell how fresh they were. I wasn't about to trust our future to problematic mayonnaise." 

"This is fine. Gonna have to pull over somewhere and get a couple hours of sleep though." 

He expected Rodney to complain, but instead, Rodney crawled into the back and pulled out an old blanket. He tossed it at John's head.

"What about you?" John asked. 

"I've got my own." Rodney held up his plaid blanket. "Guess it's a good thing we took my car after all." 

"Because it's full of crap?" John teased.

"Hey, at least it's useful crap."

As gloating went, that wasn't even close to McKay's standard. Proof Rodney was just as tired as he was. John shook his head and drove to the darkest end of the parking lot. They wouldn't be here long. He just needed enough shut-eye to keep himself from driving off the road. 

He set his phone alarm to wake him in three hours. It would have to be good enough. 

An hour later his phone rang. He had to blink twice before the number came into focus. "Teyla?"

"John, Director Kenmore has discovered that you are behind the theft," came her rushed reply. "Watch your back." She hung up.

John, now wide awake, pulled the memory card, tossed his phone out the window, and drove over it. As tempting as it was to peel out of the parking lot to the squeal of rubber, this wasn't a spy movie. Instead, he slipped out of the parking lot as quietly as he could. 

"Rodney, wake up!"

"What!? Oh, god, what time is it?" Rodney scraped his hand over his face. "It's still night." 

"Did you notice if the store had a video camera? 

"Yeah. It did." Rodney leaned forward, "What happened?"

"Teyla called. Kenmore's onto us."

"Crap. We're going to have to ditch the car." 

John had to hand it to him. Still half asleep and only given a few words to work with, McKay already understood their situation. "You'll need to get rid of your phone, too. If there's someone you need to contact, better do it now."

Rodney already had his phone out and was busy dialing. "Ronon, c'mon pick up!" 

Ronon must have answered because Rodney continued, "Time is relative, you bohemian. I'm on highway 89—where are we, Sheppard?"

"Road sign says we're just entering Gardiner." 

"Gardiner. Yes, it's best to assume we have a tail. Are you near enough to help? Great. I'm going to need—yes yes I owe you one." Rodney hung up. "Ronon's sending someone. He said after we switch vehicles to head towards the north entrance of Norris Basin."

"Yellowstone?" John asked over his shoulder. Craning his neck to talk was getting old fast.

"Plenty of room to get lost in and hard to find anyone that doesn’t want to be found." Rodney frowned down at his phone and then pulled it apart, tossing the pieces out the window. 

"How long do you think…" John started.

"Not long. Ronon said to look for a green pick-up truck at the first four corners outside of town. If it's not there, we wait for it."

They hit the crossroads and John pulled the car over to wait. Ten minutes stretched into twenty without a sign of any moving vehicle, let alone a green truck. 

"You're positive someone's coming?" John asked. He had no idea who this Ronon guy was or how reliable his unnamed friend might be. Uncomfortable didn't begin to cover it. He removed his piece from the glove compartment; checked and rechecked the clip. He was still deciding whether to place on the dash or keep it in his hand when Rodney spoke up.

"Stop playing with your gun, it's only going to make our contact nervous."

"McKay, this whole situation makes me nervous. I should know better than to let you come up with a plan."

"That is so typically unfair—wait. There's the truck now." 

Before John could stop him, Rodney jumped out of the car and stood in the middle of the road waving his arms. God-damn it. McKay had the self-preservation instincts of a cliff-dwelling lemming. 

The truck stopped and a trim, solidly built man with a boyish grin stepped out.

Rodney stopped in his tracks. "Lorne?"

"I owed our mutual friend one. I'd ask you about your companion, but it's better if we don't pass around names." Lorne nodded in John's direction. 

Right. Keys. John stepped up and traded car keys with Lorne. 

"Better get anything you need transferred over. You won't be seeing it again," Lorne warned. 

"What are you going to do with my car?" Rodney asked, looking stricken. 

"Better if you don't know. But I can guarantee it won't be traced back to you."

John got busy moving the stuff over while Lorne and Rodney exchanged a few more words. Since he didn't know what Rodney considered necessary, he gathered up all of it except for some empty chip bags. 

"We're good. Get in the truck," John said, dumping the last of the items into the truck bed.

A belligerent look crossed Rodney's face and John softened his tone. God, they were all exhausted and it was catching up. "We're holding up your friend."

Rodney climbed in the truck and stashed a bag John hadn't seen before down by his feet. Grinning he held up a thermos of coffee. "From Lorne. And that's why he's my best friend in the world right now, unlike you."

"Yeah, well share some of that and I may just propose to the man the next time we see him." If all of Rodney's connections were this helpful, they just might make it through this with their skin intact.

It had stopped snowing. Rodney had fallen asleep, his head resting against John's shoulder. Exhausted, John pulled the truck over. They'd reached the end of the line. "Hey, McKay, we're here. 

"Wha? Oh, we're here. Let me…" Rodney shook the thermos, hopefully.

"Sorry, buddy, I finished that off about two hours ago." John yawned. He'd also pulled over twice for a nature break, but didn't feel the need to advertise it. 

"Bastard. Gah, I need to stretch my legs" Rodney rummaged through the bag and tossed John a turkey sandwich. He frowned. "Funny, I could have sworn there were two in there."

John kept quiet. There was no need for Rodney to know he'd found the food hours ago and had helped himself. 

Aha!" Rodney pulled a burner phone out of the bag and began texting. His crooked smile succeeded in doing something funny to John's chest. 

"Ronon said to keep driving until the road ends and he'll meet us there. Do you want me to drive for awhile?"

"No. I got it." He'd driven them this far besides how much farther could it be? It wasn't until he'd left the road and was driving over grassy hummocks that John realized he'd underestimated his fatigue. 

"John, stop. Stop!" Rodney shook his shoulder. "You fell asleep at the wheel you idiot!"

"I'm good."

"Bullshit." Rodney reached over, turned off the engine, and pocketed the keys. "This is far enough. We're just staying put until Ronon finds us."

"Okay." Too exhausted to argue, John's eyelids began slipping shut.

"For all the idiotic, stubborn, pain-in-my-ass secret agents to run off with…." Rodney tugged on his arm and John gave in easily, sliding over until his head rested on Rodney's shoulder. He had one quickly passing thought before he fell back to sleep. Rodney's shoulder was as warm, solid, and comforting as he'd imagined. 

He woke to the smell of coffee. John moved slowly, his neck and back making their displeasure known. Ow. "Rodney?"

Rodney sat next to him and passed him a cup of coffee. A fresh thermos of the stuff was cradled between Rodney's knees. "Ronon brought it. Drink up. You've got about ten minutes to wake up before Ronon has the horses packed up.

"Horses?" 

"There's no road where we're going." Rodney grimaced. "I hope you ride better than I do."

"Yeah, I can ride." John sat up straight and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "How long?"

"About an hour. On the bright side, the sun is up and Ronon assures me that the cabin isn't far from here."

"Cabin? In the wilderness? That's your getaway plan? This just keeps getting better and better," John groused. 

"You had no plan at all, Sheppard, so maybe you could cut me a little slack."

Sure he could. He just didn't want to. He finished the coffee and got out of the truck. Rodney tossed him a blanket and John nodded his thanks. For all that the sun had been up for a couple of hours, it hadn't done much to warm the cold November air. 

"Time to saddle up," Ronon said. He put action to words and mounted a large roan.

It had been awhile since he'd ridden and John breathed a sigh of relief when muscle memory took over. 

"Just give them their head. They know the terrain and they know where we're going," Ronon advised. 

Rodney looked unsettled in his saddle but determined. Or possibly he was afraid of falling off. Whichever it was, he kept his comments to himself and the next hour turned out the be the quietest of the entire trip.

"Ow! Crap." Rodney threw the burning potholder into the kitchen sink and ran cold water over it. At least he'd gotten the biscuits out of the oven before they burnt. Mostly. He supposed they could scrape or cut off the bottoms.

"Problem?" John asked a wide smirk blossomed across his face.

Grumbling, Rodney pulled out his wallet and threw a ten-dollar bill at John. "Fine. Maybe this cooking thing isn't as easy as you make it look."

John picked up the bill, air-kissing it before he tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans. It probably wouldn't be there long. That same bill had been going back and forth between them since they'd gotten here. 

"We could always bet on how much longer it will be before you figure out how to put all those pieces together. Tomorrow—next Tuesday? Oh, wait, with the progress you're making that's an automatic win for me." John leaned back in his chair and grinned. 

"Just eat your biscuit, Sheppard."

John had a point, Rodney just hated to admit it. They'd been hiding out in this cabin for eight days now and he was still no closer to solving the puzzle. 

"It's almost time." John jumped to his feet and motioned for Rodney to get his ass in gear and open his laptop. 

"Already? I should really put that spy satellite on a timer."

"I did. It should be overhead any second now. Teyla will try to get a message to us. I know she will."

Rodney didn't say a word. He had to hope she was alive and well for John's sake. But it had been fourteen days since he'd figured out how to bounce a signal off an orbiting satellite. There hadn't been one email or text message in all that time. Nothing.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the disappointment on John's face. Worse, Rodney was beginning to worry too. He plastered on a fake, bright smile. "Look, you're the one that told me how smart and capable she is. Maybe she just doesn't have anything to say?"

"Yeah, maybe." John rubbed his forehead and Rodney winced in sympathy. 

When Ronon told him that the cabin was 'off the grid' Rodney had prepared himself to be grateful if the roof didn't leak and the outhouse was downwind. He'd never been so happy to be wrong.

The place wasn't large, basically just two rooms and yes, they had to share the only bed. Surprisingly, he and Sheppard were dealing with that with less awkwardness than he'd expected. 

It helped that the cabin was well stocked and came complete with indoor plumbing and electricity. It even had a generator backup for the solar panels. More reliable wi-fi would have been welcome, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

John took care of the horses and went out riding on patrol a ridiculous amount of the time. Rodney sighed. There was a slight possibility that John was deliberately avoiding spending time with him. 

Not that Rodney could blame him. He wasn't the most pleasant person to be around when he was stuck on a puzzle. Still, calling him morose and bitter seemed entirely unfair. 

Fifteen minutes later the satellite passed out of range and he lost the connection. Not bad. He'd had enough time to hack Area 51 and download their linguistics' program. Not that he needed everything, just their alien language file. 

"You're kidding," John said, standing over his shoulder. "Area 51 has an honest-to-god alien language program?"

"So they claim. Now let's see if it's something I can use." Rodney opened up his decryption program. 

"How long before it's done?" John asked. 

"Forty-eight hours, minimum. What? We don't even know yet how many alien languages there are."

John sat down heavily in his chair. "There's more than one?"

"How the hell should I know? I'm just saying…." 

"We're both in over our heads?" John supplied, arching his eyebrows. 

"No. Maybe." They hadn't really talked about it, what it might mean when Rodney did finally put the pieces together. Could they be looking at some kind of communication device? An alien power source? A bomb?

The clock on the wall clicked the seconds away and the silence grew. Rodney could feel the weight of John's gaze behind him. Rodney turned in his chair to face him, expecting some snide comment about the program he was running taking too long. 

Instead, he found himself swallowed by the heat in John's eyes. Rodney stumbled up out of his chair only to find himself suddenly backed against the wall. 

"I never—your fault—damn you!" John growled out the words as he pressed Rodney up against the wall. 

Rodney clutched at John's shoulder and moaned. Christ, John's thigh was right there, shoved between his legs, and it would only take…."

"You sit there, like we have all the time in the world, with your fucking amazing shoulders and perfect ass," John husked against his ear. "You're the most frustrating asshole I've ever met and I can't—ugh. God, help me, I can't stay away from you."

Rodney threw his had back, exposing his throat. "Please—John—please." Not sure what he was begging for, but he still couldn't stop himself from asking for it. 

John nipped at Rodney's throat; following the arching line of it until he reached Rodney's mouth. His kiss took command of Rodney's senses; a hot, live thing, taking no mercy. 

Rodney's knees buckled. 

John laughed low and dirty. His hands working their way under Rodney's shirt until he reached bare skin. 

"Who moved the bed so far away?" Rodney whined, his fingers making an uncoordinated mess of unbuttoning John's shirt.

John grabbed his hands, stilling them. "Let me drive."

"What is this? A thing for you? You've always got to drive?"

"Trust me." John shoved Rodney's pants down. "I'm a very good driver."

Rodney lay on top of the bed and debated the pros of taking a nap. John had one leg and an arm thrown over him. It seemed a shame to make John move especially after he'd given Rodney the best night he'd had in years.

"Hey," John said, softly snuffling against Rodney's neck.

"Hey." A drowsy smile stretched across his face. Rodney reached up and threaded his fingers in John's head. Yep. Best sex ever. 

"That thing you're trying to build. I don't think those long tubes are meant to be legs or a tripod or whatever. I think they might be some kind of flight sensors. Navigation fins."

Rodney sat up straight. His feet hit the floor so fast he almost fell out of bed. At the last second, he grabbed up his boxers and yanked them on. 

"Navigation fins…you're sure?" 

Lazily, John leaned on one arm and smiled at him from the bed all sex-mussed, lean temptation. "Pretty sure."

Rodney had to force himself to look away. It was that or crawl over to the bed and climb John. With a dry swallow, he shifted his gaze to the puzzle in front of him. "What was that again?"

John stood up, pulled on his pants, and stepped over to the table. This thing they were trying to put together had defied Rodney's attempts to assemble it. He gingerly touched the parts in question. "Here. This looks backwards. If you attach them the other way around —" 

Rodney threw up his hands. "Don't touch! Yes, backwards, I got it. You know, I think you might be onto something. It would explain…." His voice trailed off as he considered the possibilities this new arrangement presented. 

John spoke quietly in Rodney's ear. "Now ask yourself, what does an unknown device need navigation fins for? Could it be some kind of advanced, self-automated weapon? Because that would certainly explain my agency's interest in it."

"Maybe? But most of this stuff we found was old. Decades old. Gah, none of this makes sense." 

Rodney hadn't doubted his source for an instant. Not from the moment Ronon and placed an old, leather journal into his hands and asked Rodney to check it out. 

Its pages were brittle with age and the ink had faded. Early on, Rodney decided that the journal either had multiple authors or it was written by a quirky linguist. The damn thing had been written in at least four languages. He'd spent more than one night with Google translate and eyestrain trying to decipher the damn thing.

To make it even more interesting some of it had been written in code Not a particularly good code—it had only taken him three days to break it.

"I figure we're looking at three options," John said. "This stuff really is that old or this is all an elaborate hoax, or lastly, time travel is a real thing." 

Rodney glared and received a shrug from John in reply.

John spread out the blueprints on the table and traced over the design with a gentle touch. He looked up at Rodney with a long, considering gaze. "You believe it's genuine."

"I—" He turned away embarrassed to admit how much he believed. If he heard one single X-files comment…. Oh, who was he kidding? He'd put up with it because it was the truth. 

John sat quietly, waiting for a response to an answer the already knew. Rodney swallowed his pride and prepared to be made fun of. 

"Yes. If you'd seen the original journal…." He lifted his eyes to meet John's and couldn't find a trace of mockery. Huh. That went better than he expected.

"Right." John stepped over to the counter and started a fresh pot of coffee which Rodney took to mean that this conversation was far from over. 

"Seriously, John, that's all I know. I started deciphering clues just to see where it led. I had no idea anyone else would following the same trail."

Coffee brewing, John pulled clean cups down from the cupboard and began making ham and cheddar cheese sandwiches. 

Seeing the domestic side of John had caught Rodney completely by surprise. He'd had no idea secret agents could even have a domestic side. Weren't they supposed to be some kind of hard-bitten, tough-as-nails, shadow figures? 

He was about to point that out when John turned to him and smirked. 

"Don't know about you, McKay, but I certainly worked up an appetite. And I was thinking about burning a few more calories before the night's over. Hungry?"

"I—I could eat." 

"You know, you're almost cute when your cheeks turn all pink like that." John took a big bite of his sandwich; sheer merriment in his eyes. 

Rodney cleared a place at the table while John poured the coffee and brought the food over. 

"Okay, this is what I know from my side of it," John said. "It's not much. The agency I worked for is big on need-to-know. Director Kenmore would only read me in on the facts necessary for retrieval. I discovered on my own that the two of us were after the same things." 

"You think someone was feeding him information?" Rodney guessed, stomach sinking at the idea of being set up.

Hands braced on the table, John stared Rodney in the face. "Who Rodney? Who else had this information? It's got to be someone you know that leaked it to Kenmore. Could it be your buddy Ronon?"

Rodney shook his head. "It's not possible. He's the one that gave me the journal in the first place. It doesn't make any sense for him to betray me. Maybe it was one of your people using those inchworm bugs?"

John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, no. The ones you saw were prototypes." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. "The boss man wasn't too thrilled with me when he found that I destroyed the only two in existence."

Stunned, Rodney rolled all the information over in his head. Nothing added up. "I trust Ronon with my life. There has to be another answer."

John looked skeptical. "Maybe. And maybe Ronon's not the friend you think he is." 

Thankfully, John let the subject drop. They finished their meal in silence, both pondering the assorted parts of the device that Rodney had shoved over to one side of the table.

Dishes cleared and with a refill of coffee, Rodney began reassembling the pieces. 

"Not there," John said. "Like this."

Rodney grit his teeth and bit back his verbal protest. John was right. He'd figured out more by intuition than Rodney had by following the diagram. Frustrated, he grabbed up the blueprints, crumpled them into a ball and threw them across the room.

"Feeling better?" 

"I hate you so much," Rodney snapped back.

"No, you don't." John slipped two fingers inside the waistband of Rodney's smiley boxers and tugged. "You make me crazy. I don't know how you expect to get this stuff done when you're a god-damned distraction." 

"I forgot to put pants on again, didn't I?" Rodney brought his hands up to rest on John's bare shoulders. "Seems fair. You never bothered to put a shirt back on." He ran his hand down over John's bare chest. 

"Bastard, John muttered just before his mouth crashed down onto Rodney's 

Rodney grabbed John's hair and held on, giving back just as good as he got. John's kisses were demanding and sweet; yet not enough, not near enough.

John's hands slipped inside Rodney's boxers. With a soft growl, he grabbed onto Rodney's ass tugging him close. 

"Bed, right now." Rodney's gasped, vaguely aware that his words sounded more like a moan. But as long as John didn't stop and argue, he didn't care. 

They stumbled their way over to the bed; graceless and clumsy as they tried to shed their clothes without breaking their kiss. 

Impatient, Rodney shoved John down on the bed. "I hate you so much—so much," He began kissing his way done the length of John's naked body. 

"Right here," he kissed John's mouth," and here," he kissed John's chest, and I hate you here, too." He kissed John's belly, lingering there to spread more kisses over what was quickly becoming his favorite spot. 

"Ugh," John groaned. "Do you think you could hate me just a little lower? Now maybe? Now would be good." 

John reached down and tangled his fingers in Rodney's hair. His hips jerked up as Rodney moved lower and kissed the head of John's cock. "Oh, fuck, right there, yes! Hate me just as much as you want."

John cracked open an eye as sunlight prodded at him through the window. What time? Right. They'd stayed up late. Had incredible hate sex—he snorted—there wasn't much hate involved. Not with the way Rodney's wide, generous mouth had loved him to the brink of orgasm.

Speaking of. Rodney was curled up beside him with one arm thrown over John's waist. Aware that he probably shouldn't let himself get used to how good it felt, he gingerly moved Rodney's arm, careful not to wake him, and slipped out of bed. 

John readied himself for the day. As he drank his coffee, he stood gazing out the window. A couple inches of fresh snow lay on the ground lending a pristine view of the world outside. 

Ronon would be bringing in supplies today. John wasn't looking forward to confronting him, but it had to be done. He glanced over to the bed where Rodney was waking up. Nope, accusing Ronon of betraying his friend wasn't going to go over well at all. 

"Hey. You're up." Rodney ambled over to the coffee pot. He'd gotten dressed and stood there in his bare feet, hair in tuffs, and a sleep seam across one cheek. John refused to even think the word adorable. 

Rodney frowned at the stove. "My last attempt at cooking didn’t go over so well." He turned his big blue eyes in John's direction. 

"Is that your subtle way of asking me to make breakfast?" John asked. 

"Is it working?"

Yes. Yes, it was, and judging from the smug smile on his face Rodney knew full well that John was going to give in. 

By the time the morning chores were done and the horses tended to, Ronon still hadn't shown up. The more time that passed the antsier Rodney got. John kept his silence and waited for the damn to burst.

"You're going to confront him, aren't you?! Ronon, I mean." Rodney idly turned a piece of the device over in his hands while refusing to meet John's eyes. "He wouldn't betray me."

John laid his hands over Rodney's stilling them. "I'm not going to accuse him, just ask a few questions. Okay? Look, why don't we see if we can finish putting this contraption together while we wait?"

Mutely, Rodney nodded. The kicked puppy routine was not going to work. It wasn't! Oh, hell. Sighing, John began to rethink his approach. Maybe it would be best to let Rodney question Ronon. 

As the minutes ticked by, John tried to ignore the time. Ronon would get here when he got here. He turned his focus back to watching the device come together under Rodney's hands. 

"Done!" Rodney sat back; a proud, relieved smile on his face.

"That's it?" John asked. He reached out poked it with his finger. "Looks like a cross between a lamp and a squid. How does it turn on?"

"Stop touching! It's not a lamp. It's a— "

John smirked. "Great, you don't know what it is either."

"Not exactly. So maybe we shouldn't turn it on." Rodney's pensive expression didn't exactly exude confidence and it took John a minute before he noticed Rodney turning a burlap pouch over and over in his hands. 

"Hey, that's the pouch that we found in the cemetery. Why haven't you used it?" 

"I'm fairly certain it contains the power source, and I thought, hey, it's a nice day. Let's make it even nicer by not blowing ourselves up!" 

John lifted it out of his hands and carefully removed a small gizmo the size and shape of his pinky. "It doesn't look dangerous. How would this even generate power?" 

"Because the embedded electrodes are designed to interact with the installed magnets…never mind. Just trust me. Without this, your drone won't work."

"So, it is a weapon." 

"We don't know that." Rodney clearly wanted to argue his point but they were stopped by a knock at the door. 

Ronon walked in, his eyes immediately lighting on the assembled device. "That's the thing?"

John stepped between Ronon and Rodney. "That's it."

"Bear in mind, I haven't figured out exactly what it is yet," Rodney chimed in. 

Already suspicious, John couldn't shake the feeling that Ronon knew a lot more than he was saying. He was certain of it when Ronon pulled a park radio from his duffle bag and made a call. 

"Lorne, it's Ronon. McKay did it."

John and Rodney exchanged looks. "What's Lorne got to do with this?" Rodney asked. 

"You'll find out. There's a helicopter on its way. Should be here in twenty. Got anything to eat?" Ronon began poking around the kitchen until he found John's latest batch of biscuits. 

Twenty minutes took forever. Ronon either flat out refused to answer questions or they got a one-word monosyllabic response. 

Of the two of them, John's frustration came close to climbing through the roof. Rodney, on the other hand, seemed more baffled than anything else. He was clearly giving Ronon the benefit of the doubt. 

"Let's try this again," John said, clinging to his patience. "You gave Rodney the journal. Did you know what was in it? 

"Of course, he didn't," Rodney piped up. "Nobody could figure it out, that's why he gave it to me. I'm right aren't I?"

Ronon grinned. "Yeah. I knew if anyone could figure it out you could."

Thank fuck. Ronon had actually answered with a full sentence. John was ready to jump at the chance to finally elicit real answers. Rodney caught his eye and shook his head no. Great. He was going to have to softball his questions. 

"I think we can all agree Rodney is smart. So, how does Lorne fit into it?" For a moment, John thought Ronon was going to refuse to answer but something shifted in his expression.

"Sorry, McKay. I should have told you." Ronon said.

"Huh? What do you mean, you should have told me?!"

"Lorne knew about it. He's the one that gave me the journal to give to you."

"Care to explain that little detail?" John folded his arms across his chest. Ha! If this wasn't proof that Ronon had betrayed Rodney, John didn't know what was.

"I didn't betray you, McKay. Lorne just asked me if I knew anyone smart enough to decode the journal. I thought of you." Ronon shrugged, acting as if it were no big deal, but he refused to meet Rodney's eyes.

John bristled. "We are not done discussing this, Ronon. Whether you meant to or not, Rodney's life was put in danger." 

Anything else he might have said was cut short as the sound of helicopter blades filled the air. 

The cabin door swung open and Lorne walked in. 

"It's colder than a witch's…" Lorne looked up at the faces staring at him. John's cold reception. Rodney's frowny face, and Ronon look of relief. John didn't blame Lorne for stopping in his tracks. 

"Guess I should have knocked first." 

"Rodney needs to know about the journal, Lorne," Ronon said. "They think we were up to something." A look of uncertainty crossed his face. It was clear, even to John that Ronon was beginning to wonder if he'd been played. 

Oddly, it made him feel slightly better to know that Rodney's friend wouldn't knowingly betray him. John narrowed his eyes at Lorne. 

"Right." Lorne kicked the snow off his boots and walked over to the table. A grin lit up his face. "You really did it. You actually built it. I had my doubts, but both Ronon and Daniel Jackson said you were one of the best, Dr. McKay."

Rodney's chest puffed out in pride and John rolled his eyes. 

"Can you make more?" Lorne asked; his expression begged for the answer to be yes. 

"The blueprints are right— " Rodney cleared his throat, and John raised his eyebrows in warning. Lorne didn't need to know the blueprints were crumpled up in a ball somewhere. "Yes—well. "Given the materials, theoretically we could make as many as you need."

"Colonel O'Neill will be very happy to hear that," Lorne said, sounded relieved.

"Care to explain?" John coldly asked. He was still furious at how casually Lorne and Ronon both had tossed Rodney out into a field of work he was hardly prepared for.

"Look," Lorne began, "I get that you've both had to hole up here for safety's sake. I'm sorry about—"

"Did you know that Rodney was kidnapped because you sent him off on this wild scavenger hunt? Did you know, that he was nearly killed?" John didn't feel it necessary to add that it was people in his own agency that had come after Rodney. That wasn't the point.

"Like I said, we're really very sorry. And truly grateful for the work both you and Rodney have done. I can't tell you how important your discovery is. It's not overstating it to say that the work you've done here may lead to saving millions of lives." 

John stared back, unbelieving. 

Lorne shifted on his feet. "I know it won't make up for it, but General Hammond has given me permission to show you why this device is so important." 

Rodney's head snapped to attention. "I'd like to see that very much."

After a few minutes of discussion and a few wildly waving hand gestures from Rodney, they came to an agreement. John, Rodney, and the device would go with Lorne to Area 51. Ronon would head out to the ranger station and try to get a message to Teyla.

"Just let her know we're okay and see if she needs anything. Tell her—tell her to watch her back." John couldn't go into details, but he didn't trust Kenmore. Teyla might be the most capable agent he knew, but she'd gone out on a limb for him and he wouldn't feel easy until he knew she was safe.

Area 51 didn't look like much. He could see a few scattered buildings sitting amid miles of desert scrub with a single road leading in and out.

However, it hadn't escaped John's notice that with each gate they passed through it became more and more obvious Lorne's badge allowed for a lot higher access than the normal grunt. Lorne had never revealed his rank and now John was seriously beginning to wonder about it. 

Rodney had gone from fidgeting to complaining to wide-eyed staring. "I built an alien drone. I did, didn't I?" He continued to sing-song _I built an alien drone_ until John shut him up with a gentle head-thwap.

Lorne grinned. "If I didn't want to admit it, would I have brought you all the way here?" 

John wasn't feeling anywhere near as friendly. "Who are you?" 

Lorne held out his hand. "Sorry for the cloak and dagger bit. We weren't sure who might be watching your place. I'm Major Lorne, U.S. Air Force. Currently assigned as the liaison between Area 51 and Cheyanne Mountain. 

"N.O.R.A.D?" Rodney asked.

"Deep space telemetry," answered Lorne.

John shook his hand. "So, there really are spaceships."

Lorne's expression didn't flicker, but deep in his gut, John knew he'd gotten it right. Area 51, Rodney's drone, deep space— Lorne had brought them here to see a god-damned flying saucer. He couldn't decide if he was thrilled or was going to be sick to his stomach. 

As they continued walking, Rodney bumped against his side. Now that John thought about it, during this entire journey Rodney had found a way to touch him every few minutes. Sometimes it was a simple shoulder bump, like now. Twice Rodney had leaned over to look at something, brushing John's arm with his hand. 

And, not two minutes ago he'd managed to smack John in the ribs with his elbow. Graceless, clumsy, and completely on purpose. The idiot was trying to make John feel better by reminding him that they were in this together. 

The tension in John's spine eased and he thought about smiling. Not that he had any intention of letting Rodney McKay know his plan was working. 

"Before I take you into the hanger, Lorne cautioned, "I have to remind you of the NDA you signed back at the cabin. It includes everything you've seen here and that goes double for what I'm about to show you." 

Rodney put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. "Oh please, you already trusted me enough to give me the journal, and John here has secret-agent-man stamped all over him." 

Lorne sighed. He opened the hanger door and ushered them in clearly bracing for a big reaction. 

So, maybe he should say something about the cylindrical, bus-sized craft sitting in the middle of the room? John scratched his head. "That's…ah… your flying saucer? Um…cool?"

Lorne looked faintly dismayed at his lack of enthusiasm, but Rodney made up for it by running over to the craft and inspecting it from head-to-toe.

Rodney rapped the side of it with his knuckles. "Recessed drive pods. Does it have lateral and vertical take-off?" He didn't wait for Lorne's response. "Of course, it does."

Rodney continued circling the flying bus-thing. "That's why you needed John and me to solve your puzzle. You need the drone weapons for this!"

Lorne, who'd watched Rodney like a hawk seemed at a loss for words. He turned to John, "How did he know?"

John shrugged. "That's McKay." 

Pulling himself together, Lorne left John's side and approached Rodney. "I didn't just bring you here to see this. We—General Hammond, Colonel O'Neill and myself—would like you to stay here at Area 51 and work on the Gate Ship project."

Rodney's eyes were round as saucers. "What about Sheppard?" 

Lorne brushed aside the question. "The SGC doesn't usually involve civilians but none of our experts have made a tenth of the progress you have. I'll admit that when we acquired that old journal from a Trust operative, we weren't sure where it would lead."

John didn't care for the sound of that at all. "So, you've dealt with the Trust. I know the kind of shit they're willing to do so let's just say I'm not exuding with confidence here. Can you guarantee that you can keep Rodney safe?"

Rodney held up his hand. "Wait. Trust? What's that, and more importantly why would you name this aerodynamic little beauty a Gate Ship? That's a horrible name."

Lorne sighed, again. "You'll need to sign another NDA before I can tell you that. Why don't we go over to my office? I'd like to get you signed on and set up with your own lab as soon as possible."

Rodney turned his wide-eyed gaze on John. "John?"

"You're safe here, Rodney," Lorne reassured him. He spared a glance at John." I promise you, Mr. Sheppard, despite its appearance, this is one of the most secure places on Earth."

"But—but what about John?"

"As for Mr. Sheppard, I'll make sure he gets back to the cabin or—is there somewhere else you prefer to go, Sheppard? Give the word and I'll make it happen."

John sat in his car outside the Office Department building. He could go in. He could walk right in, take his back his old desk, and—his brain stopped there and memories filled that space.

Rodney's warm, pliable body under him as John moved inside him. The tender kisses Rodney pressed into John's skin with his wide, generous mouth. The words whispered into his skin _I hate you here—I hate here_.

That damned good-bye at Area 51. The _So long, John_ was pure bullshit. Jaw clenched, he squeezed his eyes shut. A shaky breath later he opened his eyes and looked back up at the building. Time to assess what he did know and what he could do about it. 

He could go in because Teyla had gotten a message to him via Ronon. Just two words. Come back.

She never would have sent a message like that if it weren't safe. John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He'd found his car parked in front of his apartment; washed, waxed, and gleaming in the afternoon sun looking as good as new. It was as good as announcing that his job was waiting. No questions asked.

Rodney would probably warn him to be careful anyway. He nearly smiled at the thought of Rodney and his mile-wide overprotective streak. Rodney, who wasn't here trying to get him to wear one of his ridiculous disguises. John punched the dash. Fuck. Ow. 

He still couldn't believe Rodney had stayed at Area 51. Okay, John hadn't actually said anything about forming their own team, but they'd been working together for weeks. He'd stolen Rodney's stuff back, and burned his bridges to keep Rodney safe. 

Shouldn't it have been obvious that they were meant to be together?

It didn't surprise John one bit when security let him into the building. It did surprise him when he saw Teyla in the fishbowl sitting at Kenmore's desk. 

She waved him in. 

"When did this happen?" John asked, pointing to the gold lettering on the door that read: Director Emmagan.

"Two weeks ago. Director Kenmore had an unfortunate misstep leaving the position open." 

"Really."

She lowered her voice. "John, one of the reasons we get along so well is that I have never questioned your methods. I suggest you afford me the same courtesy and don't question mine." 

Her smile held a glint of teeth and no humor whatsoever. 

John zipped his mouth shut. 

She stood and gave him a hug. "It's good to see you back."

"You don't look all that happy about it." Habits were hard to break and John braced himself for the bad news. 

"You can relax. It's nothing bad. I'd just hoped we'd have more time to work together." 

She picked up a memo from the desk. "It seems that you have returned only to be reassigned." 

"What! Can't you block it?" 

"I'm sorry, John. This is far above my pay grade." 

Her eyes sparkled in amusement and John knew something was up. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. If something amused Teyla, it was bound to be interesting. 

"It seems General Hammond has made a special request directly to the Office Department Head."

John raised his eyebrows. "You don't mean—?"

"Yes, would seem their granddaughters play together." She waited for the news to sink in. "You've been reassigned to Area 51."

"We—we don't have a branch at Area 51." 

"Apparently, we do now." She leaned against the desk and waved the memo at him. "A personal message—for you—was included. The message is odd enough that I sent it to our cryptologists, but they found nothing to decode."

John took the memo from her and read it. 

**Take the transfer. I still hate you and it's interfering with my work. It would be much easier to hate you right here when you're invading my space.**

Huh. Oh, there was zero doubt as to who this was from. 

John vowed to grill Rodney about the space invaders when he caught up with him. Meanwhile….

He tucked the note into his pocket and laughed with stupid, silly joy. Rodney, flying saucers and space invaders. Damn. It was beginning to look like he was never going to have to deal stuffy, boredom crap ever again. 

"John, are you all right?" 

"I'm good. Really, better than good." He pulled her into an awkward hug. "Teyla, can you do me one last favor? Inform HEAD that my bags are already packed."

He couldn't wait to show Rodney McKay just how much he hated him back.


End file.
